Gemotions

“Damn it!” cried the woman in the leather jacket, as she crushed her phone. The message she'd sent was "I hate my boss" and she had sent it to him, the boss. It was supposed to be sent to her friend, to vent about the day's stress.

She threw the crushed phone into the trash, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She could feel the heat prickling at the back of her neck. She marched over to the punching bag in the corner of her apartment and began to pummel it relentlessly, each blow filled with raw frustration and the weight of her predicament.